


Doctor's Orders

by Zavijah



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Cryptageweek, Humor, M/M, Sickfic, Sweet n'Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zavijah/pseuds/Zavijah
Summary: He was curious, or so he’d claim if anyone asked him why he was walking down the hall, carrying the soup in one hand and twirling the spoon in the other. Delivering the soup might give him a glimpse to why Ajay had made it — homemade from scratch with care — for the most unsociable jerk there ever was. Elliott frowned, knowing he was unfairly judging Crypto’s stoic distance, but it irked to know Ajay had somehow befriend Crypto when Elliott had been trying to do just that since day one.Written for #Cryptageweek | 2020 | Day 6: Hurt/Comfort
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	Doctor's Orders

“Oi, Witt.”

Elliott heard his name, but only went so far as to raise his chin a half inch in acknowledgment while his eyes remained glued to the game on his phone. Some racing game Silva had challenged him to play after flashing his high score, and now, for the last couple of hours, Elliott had sat in the commissary kitchen, vying to claim a spot on the scoreboard. He was one win away from—

“Witt!”

“Yeah?” He glanced this time, a quick flick of eyes to where Ajay stood, a foot already out the door and a pack over her shoulder. She was leaving to go see a friend, or something, Elliott hadn’t really been listening. Didn’t care much when, on his screen, his character was approaching the gauntlet section of the race. He’d died there enough to know to avoid the more obvious traps, to know the pattern of thumb taps he needed to do in order to—

“I need you to take this to Crypto.”

Elliott snapped a bewildered look on Ajay. “What?”

“For crying out loud. Take _this_ , ” Ajay said as she tapped a small, plastic container on the counter. “To Crypto.”

His phone buzzed and a downward glance showed his character dead in a pit of lava. Elliott frowned at the screen, then eyed the suspicious container. “Can’t he come get it himself?”

Ajay flattened a look on him. “You’re a selfish one.”

“It’s a fair question!”

“Just take the damn soup, would ya?”

Elliott’s mouth fished for words as he speared an incredulous look at the soup. “Why do I have to do it?”

With a roll of eyes, Ajay hiked up the strap of her pack and stepped further out the door. “You’re useless, Witt.”

“Am not! I just — the guy hates me — can’t Makoa do it?”

“And dumb to boot,” Ajay tossed at him before shutting the door, effectively ending the conversation.

Elliott stuck out his tongue at the closed door, then resumed glaring at the soup. He refused to take it. A bartender he might be — _during the off season!_ — but a waiter he was not. Crypto could walk his skinny ass to the kitchen and get it himself. Elliott hunkered down in his chair so he couldn’t see the container, and focused on the restart button flashing on his screen. 

Since when did Ajay make soup?

Elliott bounced his leg over the chair arm while his thumbs tapped indecisively at the edges of his phone. He peeked over the back of the chair, narrowing another questioning look on the container. Since when did Ajay make soup _for Crypto_? Were they friends? More than friends? Why didn’t she just bring it herself? It didn’t make any sense.

Not his problem. Nope.

_Although…_

Both feet hit the floor and Elliott rose and cautiously approached the counter. Showing up at Crypto’s door would force an interaction, albeit a brief one, and maybe it would provide a sliver of insight to why Crypto always seemed to flee whenever they were in the same room, as if breathing the same air would somehow lower his IQ. Or, so was Elliott’s bitter guess, given how many times the guy muttered about him being an idiot.

Elliott drew a spoon from a drawer and tapped it against his palm as he paced the length of the counter, back and forth, eying the soup container the whole while. Eating it, then claiming ignorance of Ajay’s instructions, crossed his mind. Petty as the thought was, it felt warranted for how Ajay simply expected him to obey her orders without question. Oh, he’d listen, but how much he’d claimed to have actually heard, or how he heard it said, was a matter up for debate.

Peeling back the lid released the distinct aroma of chicken noodle soup. Elliott pushed the spoon through the broth, dredging up: shredded chicken — not chopped cubes. And dumpling lumps— not the starchy store bought noodles. There were slices of celery, carrot, onion and — Elliott’s chest twinged sharply. Perhaps it was the smell wafting up, tickling at tender memories of the home, but Elliott suddenly felt ill. He replaced the lid.

Fine. Okay. Whatever.

He was curious, or so he’d claim if anyone asked him why he was walking down the hall, carrying the soup in one hand and twirling the spoon in the other. Delivering the soup might give him a glimpse to why Ajay had made it — homemade from scratch with care — for the most unsociable jerk there ever was. Elliott frowned, knowing he was unfairly judging Crypto’s stoic distance, but it irked to know Ajay had somehow befriend Crypto when Elliott had been trying to do just that since day one.

Crypto’s room was the only one Elliott had never been inside of, so finding the right one was a process of elimination. He rapped the spoon against the door and waited and chewed over the temptation to jokingly announce his presence. _Special Delivery!_ Elliott stared at the closed door. _Candy gram!_ It wasn’t opening. _Room Service!_ He leaned against the jamb, canting his hips. _Hey Handsome, you look like you could use some company tonight._

The door remained shut.

“Oh come on,” Elliott muttered and lightly knocked at the door with the back of his knuckles. Pressing an ear to it revealed the faintest scuff of heavy, shuffling feet before the door cracked open. Elliott jerked back, put on his best shit-eating grin, and was wholly disappointed when the door didn’t open further. Instead an empty mug was thrust through the gap and held out expectantly.

Elliott arched a brow at the cup and waited for the door to eke open a bit further. It didn’t. He waited several more breathes before his mounting confusion and curiosity became too much. “I have soup.” The mug wavered. “Do you want me to — “ pour it into the mug? That seemed silly. “Are you — am I suppose to get you something?”

The mug lowered an inch, then another.

“Coffee? Tea?”

Lower and lower. As Elliott watched, the mug went all the way to the floor, Crypto’s hand attached to it, and there it remained. Elliott stepped back and glanced up and down the hallway for the punch line to the joke being played on him. Alone, and feeling oddly like a patsy being set up to take the fall for a murder, Elliott cautiously peeked into the dark room.

“I have soup,” he repeated, at a loss of what to do with the arm and mug on the hallway floor.

Slowly, half expecting the hand to shoot up like a viper, Elliott crouched down. “I’m just going to — “ he set the soup on top of the mug, then slid the spoon between Crypto’s palm and the mug’s handle. “There you go. All set.”

The hand didn’t move and goosebumps raced across Elliott’s nape. He had delivered the soup. He’d done the bare minimum of what Ajay asked him to do and no one could fault him for wanting to mind his own business and walking the hell away. Elliot rocked back on his heels, glanced at the empty hall, and — knowing he couldn’t bring himself to walk away — grabbed the door and forced it open.

A mound of blankets on the other side made it difficult to get it open wide enough to allow in the light from the hall. The outstretched arm lead from the mug to the bundle of blankets blocking the door. It took an inordinate amount of staring before Elliott registered the balled up lump as Crypto. The transformation of Mr. Cooler-and-Smarter-than-you to a pitiful pile of blankets was, well, _hilarious_ , but also a touch alarming.

Elliott chuckled nervously, worried but trying to convince himself it was poorly executed joke, and lifted the blanket. The hallway light further revealed the sad truth. A head of sweat matted hair, splotchy red cheeks, and a pained grimace which Crypto turned away from the assaulting light. A heat rolled out from under the blanket, like hot air simmering over a sun-baked tarmac.

“You’re sick,” Elliott blurted and dropped the blanket. “I’ll go get—” Ajay was gone. Frowning, Elliott lifted the blanket back up. “You should uh, eat the soup.” Because Elliott didn’t know what else to do. “Did you take any medicine?”

Crypto groaned and pulled the blanket down.

“Hey!” Elliott flipped back the blanket and — because he didn’t want to risk his fingers getting broken — grabbed the abandoned spoon and prodded it against Crypto’s cheek. “This is important. Did you take any medicine?”

Crypto grumbled something akin to _go away_ and Elliott glowered. It wasn’t his damn responsibility to take care of anyone, especially someone with the growling personality of a distrustful alley cat, but — _but_ — Elliott leaned back and twirled the spoon. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Totally fine. I could just leave you here and… you’ll be fine. Right?”

The spoon blurred with how quick it flicked back and forth with Elliott’s indecisiveness. Crypto’s eyes cracked open, hazed and watery as they silently regarded Elliott. God, he just looked so — _miserable_. It was like looking at the last kitten in a pet shop, curled up all alone in the corner of its cage. Elliott wanted to scoop him up in a hug, kiss his brow, and coo soothing words to his mussed hair.

“Alright,” Elliott nodded to himself, having come to decision. It was either take care of the ornery bastard, or walk away and let his empathy beat the shit out of him later with a crowbar named Guilt. He grabbed the blanket and yanked it off. “Let’s get your sorry ass back to bed.”

Crypto growled something while curling in on himself, hugging his arms around his torso in a poor attempt to stay warm.

Risking life and limb, Elliott eased Crypto into a sitting position. He looped an arm under Crypto’s, curled the other around his waist, and hauled him upright. The lack of resistance surprised Elliott. He honestly expected to get hit. Sworn at, at the least. Instead he swayed as he struggled to keep up Crypto’s sinking weight.

Crypto shivered and pressed into him for warmth.

“Uhm.” Elliott swallowed, his brain short-circuiting as Crypto burrowed against his chest. “Wow — that’s uh — you’re really sick.”

Elliot rubbed his hands up and down Crypto’s back in a soothing gesture of comfort while his mind skipped elsewhere. Seeing Crypto in anything other than his bulky jacket, or a baggy, hooded sweatshirt, was a rarity Elliott hadn’t realized until that moment. His hands followed the dip of Crypto’s lower back, brushing feather light over the heated skin exposed from the shirt that had ridden up. Crypto was sleek; slender, but with enough muscle tone to not be lanky.

Elliott snapped his hands to Crypto’s shoulders. Not the time — or the place, or the person — to be having such thoughts. Heat radiated off of Crypto, and the sweat from his skin had already dampened the front of Elliott’s shirt. Another shiver made Crypto’s knees buckle. On reflex, Elliott caught him, paused, then carried him to the bed.

“Geez kid,” Elliott said as he laid him down and pushed back his sweaty bangs. The clammy brow under his fingertips burned like a sun. “You’re making me really start to worry.”

Crypto’s eyes rolled, hazed with fever, and he grabbed at Elliott’s shirt to pull him down in substitute of a blanket.

“You are so sick,” Elliott said, more to himself than the delirious guy trying to wrap around him. Elliott chanted it. _He’s just sick. He’s just sick._ It meant nothing. But, god how Elliott suddenly wished it was happening under different circumstances. He pulled away, much to Crypto’s distraught whine, and fetched the blanket from the floor. He tucked it around Crypto who instantly curled back into his original lumped form.

“I’ll be right back,” he patted what he assumed was Crypto’s shoulder. “I’m going to get some water, call Ajay, and — and you’re going to eat the soup, because — because I brought it and you should eat it.”

Leaving Crypto’s side made his gut twist and turn like a storm rough sea. He moved the soup and spoon to the nightstand, then picked up the empty mug before quietly shutting the door. His phone was to his ear, dialing Ajay’s number, before he even rounded the corner to the kitchen.

The line clicked as Ajay answered with a knowing sigh.

_”Just take him the damn sou—”_

“He’s really sick,” Elliott cut her off, suddenly angry about it. “You need to come back. Or — or I should take him somewhere? Should I take him somewhere?”

_”I know he’s sick—”_

“He’s burning up!” Elliott kicked open the kitchen door and marched inside. “Soup isn’t going to fix that!”

_”Calm yourself, would ya?”_

Sharp words danced on the tip of his tongue, but Elliott grit his teeth over them. He twisted the sink on and shoved the mug under the running tap.

_”I gave him some medicine before I left. Once his fever breaks, he’ll be fine.”_

“You should — you need to come back.”

_”Just make sure he eats something, a’ight?”_

“ _Fine_ , but if he like _dies_ —” Speaking the fear aloud sent icy shards through his nerves. “I hope he haunts you forever.”

He tossed his phone on the counter, turned off the water, and set the mug on the counter so he could shove both hands into his hair. It was just a fever. Yet it gutted him seeing Crypto so — so — why was it worse than seeing him bloodied from the games? Elliott’s fingers tightened in his hair. When had he become so jaded toward the brutality of the games? Yeah, sure, Syndicate did their best to whisk injured Legends off the playing field and patch them together, but the risk was still there — and the probability of dying during a match was greater than dying to some fever. So _why_ —

“He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn ass and — he’ll be fine.”

Blowing out a breath, Elliott grabbed the mug of water and headed back. He took a quick detour to his room to grab his tablet then stood outside of Crypto’s door, gathering up his courage and wits, before gently knocking then letting himself inside.

Crypto was still a bundle of blankets, but he’d turned to face the door, his wane features visible amid the blanket cocoon. The vulnerability was adorable yet heart wrenching. Elliott held up the tablet with a smile that he couldn’t quite keep from wobbling. “Dinner and a movie?”

The memories of his childhood had faded, like a treasured photograph folded too many times, but the feelings behind the fuzzy images hadn’t changed. He remembered, if only vaguely, of the times he’d been laid up in bed and his mother had sat with him, brushing back his hair, and letting him watch all the cartoons he wanted as long as he drank the water she brought.

Those dark eyes watched Elliott warily as he approached the edge of the bed. “Can you sit up? Drink some water?”

After a long moment of growingly awkward silence, Crypto reached for the mug. Elliott lifted it just out of reach and gestured toward the headboard. “Sit up first.”

The hand flopped back down to the bed. Elliott snorted at him, the obstinate brat. He arched brows in a silent show of challenge. If anyone was going to be stubborn, and act like a child, it was going to be him. He could stand there all day, annoying Crypto, until —

With a irritated huff, Crypto — perhaps realizing the futility of stubbornness when matched against Elliott’s — pushed back the blankets and scooted up to lean against the headboard. Glaring, he held his hand out for the water, which Elliott, smug with the taste of victory, handed over with care.

While Crypto sipped from the mug, Elliott considered the edge of the bed like a loose board in a rickety bridge spanning over a roaring river. He drew in a quick breath and — sat down. He bent his head toward his tablet, noticing the way Crypto paused mid-sip to stare, but feigned ignorance toward the invasion of space. “You like movies — or shows? I’ve got a bit of everything. Action, Comedy. Romance. Romantic Comedies — actually have a lot of those, uh — I have some uh, documentaries? Ones with animals if you — ” He lifted his eyes, but nerves got the better of him and he dropped them back onto the screen as he scrolled through his video library. “And cartoons. I used to watch cartoons when I was sick."

“Why are… “ Crypto’s voice was rough, slurred as if speaking through a sore, swollen throat. He swallowed, wincing ever so slightly with the motion. “Why — “ Abandoning the attempt at speech, he lifted a finger from the mug and waggled it at the tablet.

Elliott knew what he was trying to ask, but again, blatantly ignored it. _Why are you here? Why are you doing this?_ He couldn’t answer it anyway, at least not honestly.. It was a can of worms that he wasn’t ready to sort through. “Why… am I here? Ajay told me to bring you soup. Then she told me to make sure you ate it. So you need to eat the soup otherwise who knows what she’ll do to me. Have you see the mods she put on DOC? I have and, lemme tell ya, it has nothing to do with saving lives. She might as well hand that thing a saw blade and—”

The mug was knocked against his arm, pointedly, and when Elliott looked up, he met with Crypto’s narrowed eyes. There was no venom in the look, just a touch of exasperation and a knowing that Elliott was full of shit. Elliott smiled, innocent until proven guilty, and gestured at the tablet. “Someone has to hold this up while you eat.”

Perhaps weary with sickness, perhaps knowing the extent of Elliott’s persistence, perhaps just because he secretly wanted to (a dangerous thought Elliott only entertained for half a second) — regardless of the reason, Crypto surrendered to the inevitable. The water was traded for the soup and Elliott joined him against the headboard.

He stretched out his legs alongside Crypto’s blanket pile, focusing on the tablet. A spy thriller caught his attention, but as tempted as it was to needle at Crypto’s secret idenity, Elliott bypassed it in favor for a old film about a trio of hackers. He propped it up on his bent knee and did his best to ignore the static charge building in his chest with every careless brush of Crypto’s arm.

A quarter of the way into the movie, the glassy look returned to Crypto’s eyes and Elliott, who had been surreptitiously watching Crypto more than the movie, only just caught the soup from spilling over the blankets.

“ _Mianhe_ …”

The amount of misery in the whispered apology broke Elliott’s heart. “Nonono, you’re fine. It’s fine. No harm done. You’re sick and — and I should let you rest.”

Elliott swung his legs off the bed, but only got so far as leaning forward before the back of his shirt was caught. Even knowing it was Crypto keeping him there, Elliott twisted to look at the hand balled in his shirt. His heart leapt to the back of his throat, fluttering with questions and hopes, and he dared a peek at Crypto’s face.

Crypto stared resolutely at the collar of Elliott’s shirt instead of meeting his eyes. “I… can we finish the movie?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, of course.” Elliott set the soup aside while trying to get a handle of the fluttering swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He’d come to Crypto’s room with the intention of seeing him face-to-face at the door, tossing him a grin that he knew would earn a narrowed look, then having the door shut in his face. What had actually happened had far exceeded his expectations; blew past them and uncovered quiet wants that had been timid secrets in the corner of his thoughts.

“Whatever you want,” Elliott said with more poise than he felt. His nerves were lighting up like an operator’s switchboard as he sat back against the headboard. His skin was cool, prickling with goosebumps, making the heat emanating from Crypto akin to a warm, beckoning fire. He held the tablet between them while Crypto curled into his blanket. Their shoulders touched as Crypto leaned over to better see the screen. Elliott lost focus on anything other than the weight against his arm, hyper aware of the way Crypto occasionally shivered and feverishly pressed closer.

Bit by bit the space dwindled as Crypto drifted off. What started with him leaning more heavily against Elliott to stay upright, lead to a drooping head absently turning toward the warmth of Elliott’s throat. Crypto was well and truly asleep by the time he’d slumped to use Elliott’s chest as pillow. Elliott was loathed to move; each breath brought Crypto’s brow, hot as a branding iron, against the side of his throat. Crypto’s head of mussed, dark hair tickled the underside of his jaw, sending sparks along his nerves as if he’d brushed against an electric fence.

The end of the movie came too soon. Elliott stared at the rolling credits, searching for a reason to stay other than the his own selfishness. It’d be rude to push Crypto off, right? The guy needed his rest, and he was comfortable there and — and —

Elliott started a second movie, deciding not to think about it all too much. And if he leaned his cheek against the top of Crypto’s head, it was because he was tired and not because his heart was expanding, stretching like a dawning sun’s light over a dewy hillside.

He was well into a third movie when the door opened.

“How ya feelin’—” Ajay stopped short, a steaming mug in one hand. “Elliott? What da hell?”

Embarrassment flooded into his cheeks, and his tongued fumbled to find a coherent string of words to deflect Ajay’s incredulity. “Well, I, uh—”

“I said ta take him da damn soup, not cuddle with him!”

“And you said I’m useless so I went above and beyond to prove you wrong.”

“I asked you because I figured ya scram like ya always do ‘round him!”

The mound of blankets pressed against his side shifted, easing the pressure on his trapped arm. Elliott hadn’t had the heart to push him off, even if the slight change in position had pins and needles shooting up his arm. Elliot winced, but he didn’t move to free himself, and the lump of blankets stayed where it rested against him.

Elliott cleared his throat. “Well, your instructions were unclear.”

“ _Take this soup to Crypto_ , how’d ya screw that one up, hm?”

Elliott stared pointedly at the movie still playing on his tablet. “Not sure why you’re so mad. I brought him the soup and made sure he ate some.”

“Because, ya damn fool, ya gunna catch whatever he has and we have a match in a few days. Ya hear me now?”

“Huh.” No, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he could get sick from being around Crypto. He grinned up at Ajay. “Does that mean you’re going to make me soup too?”

“A damn knuckle sandwich is what I should give ya.” Her face soften and she gestured to Crypto with her chin. “How is he?”

One hand trapped under Crypto’s weight and the other holding the tablet, Elliott pressed his cheek to Crypto’s brow. “Warm, but not hot as he was before.”

“Good.” Ajay set the mug of tea next to the half eaten soup. “Ya might as well stay here fo now, so you don’t go infecting the whole damn place. I’ll get you some medicine, jus in case.”

Elliott huffed with feigned annoyance, then, as soon as the door shut, he nudged the tense slump next to him. “You want to pick the next movie?” The blankets jerked. “Yeah, you’re not fooling me, I know you woke up when Ajay walked in.”

Crypto made to move away and Elliott took the opportunity to pull his arm free from between them. He groaned with relief, flexing out his arm, then settled it over Crypto’s shoulders to tug him back over. The tension in the room vibrated like a guitar string twisted too tight. No questions, said the thumb rubbing against Crypto’s hunched shoulder. No pressure. Elliot kept his eyes on the screen.

Slowly, Crypto sank back down, relaxed, and resumed using Elliot’s chest as a pillow. Without a word, he wiggled a hand out from under the covers and swiped through the video library. The movie he eventually picked, a romantic comedy, made Elliott smirk. He wouldn’t tease, not right then, because the moment hung in the air as a delicate, gossamer sphere. Floating, careless, and Elliott didn’t want the bubble to pop just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated <3
> 
> Not sure why I went this direction with the prompt, but I must be saving the angst up for something else and getting all the sweet n'cute out of my system.


End file.
